An Honorary Family
by WaterSpirit1
Summary: Sitting on a park bench watching his children playing, Watson asks Holmes if he never misses having a family, which prompts an interesting answer from the detective. A simple, imagined scene of H/W friendship. Post-movie. Implied Holmes/Irene.


Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, book or film, nor anything related to it

**An Honorary Family**

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The air was crisply cool as London slowly moved towards the icy grips of winter, but Watson was glad nonetheless to find the autumn sun still warmed his skin. How nice it was to have a day of rest away from the practice! He was spending a leisurely afternoon with his children and closest friend at the park. The children were currently running about with the eldest John, taking his father's name but not his spirit of restraint, running out front with a kite in tow followed eagerly by his younger sister Elizabeth and little brother James, who were trying valiantly to catch it. Gladstone's successor, a much younger and friskier dog named Plato, chased after them, merrily barking all the while. Sitting on a park bench, he and Holmes had a picturesque view of this scene and of the other occupants of the park, who were variously walking arm in arm along the paths or pushing perambulators, and who were doubtlessly being scrutinised ruthlessly by his companion. A habit of his that never ceased.

It was a regular outing for them, and was one which allowed Mary to have some peace without the children for awhile and which forced Holmes to take in some sunlight; Watson always being concerned that the man spent too much time in the rooms at Baker Street pouring over details of cases in the dark. Besides cases, his friend had little else to cause him to venture from his abode except to see Watson and his family, still having no wife nor children of his own all these years later.

"It is a shame you never had children, Holmes," Watson said, turning slightly on the bench to observe his friend. "No one to carry on that vast intellect of yours through the generations. It seems like such a waste," he joked lightly.

He expected Holmes to at least smile in response, but he stared straight ahead with his jaw set seriously. After a short pause, he stated in a matter-of-fact way, "I do have a child."

"What?" Watson asked incredulously, sitting up to attention.

"Apparently I have a daughter," Holmes said casually, face unreadable even to one who'd known him so long, "Who is almost twelve now, or so Irene tells me."

"Irene is the mother?" he asked the question automatically, only realising the stupidity of it moments later. Of course she would be; it was doubtless that Holmes had never loved any other woman as he loved her.

"It would appear so," Holmes replied with a thin smile, knowing that Watson had surely realised his own folly and was now reproaching himself for it.

"Goodness, the child of Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes. The world's most brilliant female and male minds combined," he said with a small, incredulous laugh as the idea occurred to him, "Now that would be something to behold!"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Holmes's mouth, for he was not entirely impervious to flattery. The children called out to them to watch, trying to show them something, and Watson replied with a distracted wave of his hand that yes, they were watching closely. He was a good, attentive father usually but right now his interest lay elsewhere.

"Do you know her name?" Watson asked more seriously this time though still positively bursting with questions.

Holmes responded just as casually as before, "I believe she is called Helen, after my mother."

"Have you ever seen her?" he asked curiously, attempting to imagine what a female child of Irene and Holmes's would look like and failing miserably.

"No, but I should like to see her one day I think, even if she cannot know that I am her father," he said, voice calm and measured while his eyes steadily avoided Watson's searching gaze.

"She cannot know that you're her father?" Watson asked sceptically, and not a little confused by the statement, "Why ever not?"

"Irene does not wish for the girl to know considering she is currently married to another man. She tells her instead that the husband is her father," Holmes responded practically, seemingly devoid of the anger that should accompany such a declaration, or so Watson thought.

"Is that why you never told me?" he asked quietly, though there was an accusatory undertone in his deep voice. The detective pulled at the hem of his coat absently as he pondered why he had kept this secret from his greatest and most trustworthy friend. John watched him steadily with imploring eyes, waiting for an answer.

"In a sense, yes, I was not to let anyone know. Not that that would have stopped me telling you, old fellow," he joked rather half-heartedly, before adding in a rare show of vulnerability even to his usual confidante, "But truly, it is easier to pretend that I do not have a child at all than to know I have one who I cannot see. I sometimes think of her, Watson, and wonder what she looks like and-" He paused for a moment, collecting himself and trying to dispel the lump that had caught in his throat. "And whether she has a bright mind and a disposition like her mother's."

He stared at his hands once more and Watson, brow creased in concern, reached across to rest a hand on his friend's shoulder, pressing it reassuringly. Holmes reached up, grasping Watson's hand momentarily with a grateful yet strained smile before returning to his contemplation of the park before them. In all his years of knowing the eccentric man, the doctor had never seen anything that pained him so visibly. They had worked on disturbing cases before, it is true, but Holmes was a man who internalised every hurt, physical or emotional, hardly ever betraying these wounds to the world.

"But honestly, Sherlock, it isn't right for Irene to reveal that you have a child and then deny you any relation to her," he said quietly but firmly, "Is there no way you could persuade her to-"

Holmes interrupted him with a small, bitter smile, "You know Irene and how stubborn she is once she has set her mind upon a chosen course."

Indeed, he was well aware of Irene Adler's temperament having been subjected to it during the bygone years of living together with the detective when the woman would fly in and out of his life as she pleased, leaving Watson to pick up the pieces upon her departure. Yet the doctor's innate sense of justice felt so wronged by his companion's hidden plight that he could not help but feel Ms Adler sink lower in his esteem, if that were possible. How could a person, with any sense of empathy, plainly deny a father the right to see his child for no good reason?

"But it simply isn't fair!" Watson protested with feeling.

"So many things aren't, my dear fellow," Holmes rejoined with a small sigh, turning back to watch the children running in the sun, their innocent lives laying ahead of them as yet unspoiled by the cruel mistress of fate. Watson slumped back in his seat, somewhat defeated by the truth of Holmes's statement.

"But do you not miss having a family?" he asked despondently, feeling the pain of his friend acutely for he knew not what he would do if not for his own loving wife and children.

Glancing sideways at his friend with an affectionate grin, Holmes exclaimed, "Bah! What need have I for a family when I have been so fortunate as to be an honorary member of yours?" Watson gave him a fond smile and the detective noticed the small lines that formed around his mouth and eyes when he did so, reflecting that his own face was probably just as weathered. "In many ways, I consider myself very lucky and quite content."

And indeed he was. For it is true that although you cannot always chose your blood relations, you are at liberty to chose yours friends, wisely or poorly as it suits you, who can become as closer or possibly closer than family. And Holmes had been fortunate enough in younger days to make the introduction of one Doctor John H. Watson who became the most steadfast friend a man could ask for. Though he had been loath to lose his companion to marriage, he found that he never truly lost him at all as the detective was, over the years, welcomingly absorbed into their growing family. And without passing up any opportunity to make an amusing nuisance of himself to Mrs Watson, he was always grateful and even proved himself to be a useful sitter for the children.

"Though doubtless I shall never forgive you and your lovely wife," he still used those words mockingly Watson noticed, "for leaving me to fend for myself for a week with all of the children at once. And without even the help of dear Mrs Hudson!" he decried with a mocking grin before adding, "God rest her tortured soul."

"And Lord knows it was tortured a great deal by you," Watson said with a chuckle, "I very much doubt, Holmes, that you miss poor Mrs Hudson being the main cause of her earthly suffering."

"Oh but I do!" he protested, "Nanny and I may have never got along but at least she hated me affectionately, whereas my current landlady quite simply hates me."

"Mrs Jenkins?" Watson clarified, trying to recall an image of his friend's current landlady. If he remembered correctly she was a stout woman with glasses on a chain, who seemingly always wore black and matching expression of displeasure.

"I prefer 'the dragon'," Holmes replied with a devious grin.

"Yes, I daresay she does not like you very much," Watson agreed with a smile, "Not that you make that an easy task, mind."

At that moment, James, being the youngest at only six years of age, interrupted the conversation by moping over to them slowly and sitting down between them on the bench with a sigh.

"What's the matter?" Watson coaxed gently, leaning down to observe the boy's face.

"They won't let me have a turn," the boy mumbled sadly into his shirt.

"Well that's not very nice of them, is it?" he said soothingly before looking up to call out to his children, "Elizabeth, why won't you let James have a turn flying the kite?"

Standing firm, hands on hips, Elizabeth protested, "He's too small and won't get it to fly properly!" Holmes smiled slightly, seeing the determination of her mother showing through in her stance even though she was only ten years old.

"Why don't you teach him then?" Watson appealed, trying to solve the dispute in his usual practical yet diplomatic Watson way, Holmes thought. But she simply shrugged, no doubt keeping her true thoughts about her brother's ability to learn to herself, and ran off once more after Plato and John. Watson leaned back with a sigh, wondering what to do with the forlorn child who looked as though he were about to cry. But just as he was about to suggest something, Holmes spoke.

"Say, my boy," Holmes said jovially, clapping James's on the back amiably. "How about I explain to you the theory of aerodynamics which allows kites to fly instead? You'll be the envy of both your siblings because anyone can fly a kite, but not everyone can tell you _why _it flies."

James looked up at him curiously, not quite understanding all that he meant but clearly wanting to know more, especially if it was going to earn him merit above that of his older siblings. He was quite a bright lad really, and Watson had a suspicion that he was Holmes's favourite, considering how the detective doted on him and encouraged his puzzle solving skills. "But doesn't it fly just 'cause it's a kite?" the child asked inquisitively.

"Ah, but therein lies the answer," Holmes said mysteriously, with knowing smile. As the other man launched in to an explanation of the shape of kites and the notions of lift and drag, Watson chuckled quietly to himself at his friend's ability to make the most boring of topics interesting enough to capture a child's flighty attention.

Lighting a cigarette, he leaned back against the bench in the sun to watch his two eldest children running gaily about the park with the dog, whilst listening to his youngest innocently ask 'uncle Holmes', as they were wont to call him, whether kites flew all the way to heaven. Holmes laughed heartily at that one, believing in no such thing as an afterlife, but suggesting that anything was possible.

Holmes was quite right, Watson reflected with a smile as he blew smoke into the crisp autumn air; they were very lucky and quite content.

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A/N:   
Just a random, pleasant scene that struck me the other day. One of those '_what if?'_ moments. And it's a total guess at Holmes's mother's name there because I'm not sure she even has one technically. Also, I'm not trying to be mean to Irene because I adore her, but it just came out that way.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!


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